In Umbris Potestas Est
NAME: Harold 'Coop' Tyrelis
FACTION: TBD
RANK: N/A
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 26
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6'
WEIGHT: 335 lbs
EYES: Brown
HAIR: Blond
SKIN: Pale
FORCE SENSITIVE: No
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STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
Pros: Pilot capable of commanding and maintaining frieghters of frigate and cruiser size. Mechanic familiar with starship and limited ground and service vehicle modification and repair.
Cons: A drink for every occasion. After being stranded for so long from galactic society, Coop has turned to alcohol and sometimes worse to try and forget the sometimes not so quiet nights alone on the scrap world Raxus Prime. He likes to say he only drinks to celebrate, but that's easy to claim when you're celebrating every moment just for being alive. While Coop does not go into a mission or job drunk, he will probably drink to celebrate the victory, even if his declaration of victory is pre-mature. Driod maintenance and modification is not Coops specialty, and most droids brought back online by Coop have come through the experience with a touch of the weird. More than one astromech aboard his ship can be found from time to time spinning in circles for minutes at a time for no reason and exhibiting other mostly harmless quirks.
SHIP: NS-4
Current Status: In need of extensive repairs for operation
BIOGRAPHY:
Jacob was not a fighting kind of man. He worked as an engineer on a beat up, run down frieghter that was running on pretty hard times. His job mostly consisted of compensating for his captains refusal or, more probably, inability to buy new parts. Almost every system in the ship was jury rigged to the point where even coop wasn't sure what model originally came with the ship. The fact the boat even held atmosphere was a miracle, and the shrines some of the freight load workers left next to CO2 scrubbers showed who they really put their confidence in staying alive in.
Things too a turn for Jacob when his captain got a job he couldn't refuse, for a lot of reasons. The first was that Coop had finally given the mag field ring in the reactor its last rites, and told the captain flat out that it was a replacement or the ship wouldn't fly. No wiggle room, no jury rigging would keep them from getting stranded in deep space come 60-90 days when the thing finally blew. The second was that only an idiot tells a hut he owes money to no to a job that'll clear his debt. Even if he knows the job's only worth that much because it'll get him and his crew very dead very fast. So, all objections noted and ignored, the captain set course from New Republic space to Raxus Prime. Their mission was to get to the surface without being detected, or at least, without being followed to a contact planetside who would be transferring unknown cargo to their ship. The captain made great emphasis that the contents of the cargo was to remain unknown, almost as much emphasis as the hut's translator had put on it for himself.
It was not a surprise when the first thing sensors picked up when they dropped out of hyperspace was a sith cruiser on patrol. It was not a surprise that they shot on site when their transponder displayed republic. It was not a surprise that they did not miss a single shot in a salvo of 12 turbolasers. It was very much a surprise to Coop when he became conscious in engineering with a splitting headache, a dislocated shoulder, and a support strut very uncomfortably lodged though his shin. Not one with any medical training, he managed to dislodge the shard of durasteel and limped his way to the medbay where the immobile but still alert medical droid was able to helpfully critique him on the 12 consecutive incorrect ways he tried to pop his right arm back into its socket. It then, after Coop lost consciousness for 15 minutes from pain, decided it was the proper time to inform him that the pain medication syringe in the droid's right arm was still perfectly functional. Coop was very satisfied to lodge the injector through the artificial brain case of the droid after giving himself a healthy and relaxing dosage.
It took Coop 3 days of searching to find a derelict NS-4 left to rot about 6 miles from his crash site. Rations and water from his own ship hadn't lasted long as he was wounded. Inside the ship he found a med bay that had thankfully gone mostly undamaged by whatever accident or, perhaps, incident that had forced the operation in progress in the area to shut down. The medical droid was missing a few components, but nothing Coop needed to get his leg repaired. It took almost a month of salvaging, building, and jury rigging, but after getting 5 barely working astromechs running the NS-4 was. . . still very ugly, but the bridge held air, the life support system gave him his first sniff of almost fresh air in weeks, and the engines were tested and running at just enough capacity to break orbit. By some miracle, the hyperdrive had been completely intact. The idea that the ship had been left with such a treasure on a planet filled with Jawas was something of a miracle.
On launch day, it became clear that the planet was not as quiet as the last month and a half had lead Coop to believe. With the droids positioned and monitoring the systems most likely to fail and the countdown ready to start Coop fired up the reactor and all hell broke loose. The same Sith cruiser had been just overhead and noticed a flare on sensors as the very poorly and hastily shielded reactor lit up like a Christmas tree on your front lawn in June. With a whine the ship had just started to break the bonds of scrap and rust that held it to the planet when explosions began to rock the landscape all around the ship. With some rather blind luck, the Sith cruiser gunnery officer had not thought to calibrate his shots for atmosphere, as he was a lot more used to shooting up and away from the planet at people trying to sneak in for smuggling operations, not down at anyone stupid enough to try and escape without just bribing a merchant ship to get off world. Coop did what any sensible person trapped for weeks on end in a stinking hell hole of a scrap world with a barely working tug boat the size of a small cruiser would do. He input his escape vector and then smashed the execute button before slamming the throttle in with his face; letting out a war cry that would make the Wookie proud. The escape vector was not perfect. The escape vector was, in fact, a collision vector. A collision vector with a looming and suddenly very worried sith cruiser. The captain of which ground his teeth as the nav computer insisted, for the fourth time, that destroying the ship would not stop Newtons second law from carrying the resulting debris right through the right hangar bay and engineering. With a scream of frustrated defeat that many a captain would have found all too familiar, the captain executed evasive maneuvers, destroying any change of their turrets finding a feasible targeting solution on the large but barely straight flying missile shooting out from the ground like a bullet from a gun.
What confused the sith for weeks to come, and saved Coops life, was the mystery of how a freighter the size of a small factory broke orbit that absurdly fast. What confused the sith, and saved Coops life, was a desperate and suicidal decision to supplement the barely functioning traditional sublight engines with solid fuel booster rockets strapped to the ship in a fashion sure to make any starport inspector raise an eyebrow and give a very disapproving look to the ships captain.
Coop now finds himself in republic space with a ship he'll need a lot of help getting back to working condition. There's the matter of hull plating, droids, and getting the automated salvagers running. He can fly, maintain, and command her, but needs a crew of 1-3 sapients if he wants to go into business with the ship. He also seems willing to let the ship sit in dock if a job is up for a pilot who know how to keep a ship running when the going gets tough.
